Love and Anarchy
by Kerttu
Summary: In the ruins of the old broken order two freed but bruised spirits meet. PrestonPartridge aka slash.


Love and Anarchy

Co-authored by Kerttu and vanillafluffy (who also provided an excellent beta!) Thank you, LadiSwan, for inpiring me. All recognizable characters belong to the producers, actors and scriptwriters of the movie.

The Prozium factories were going up in flames all over the town. John Preston watched that and smiled but felt no joy. He was content that his children would live in a world where the people would not live in the haze of Prozium, emotionless and indifferent. He would rather die than endure that existence anymore. Now, he knew, there would be pain.

He leaned against the window's ledge suddenly weary of everything. Libria's false leader had been toppled. The career he had so diligently pursued was over. His only friends were dead. It would be so easy to dive into 'the abysmal low' of loss and into his death...He leaned back and took a breath. No. He would not do that. Robbie and Lisa needed him. They were all he had left in this world.

"You were always the best of us. I knew if anyone could bring down the system, it would be you." Preston whirled around, still-hot pistols ready in his hand.

Errol Partridge, Grammaton Clerick, First Class, stood in the doorway of the control room, pale as a sheet and leaning heavily onto the wall by the elevator. Preston stared at his partner, unable to make any sound or move. He noticed a bandage around Partridge's throat and that his voice rasped more than usual. A vaguely familiar man waited behind Errol, still inside the elevator. "You look like you... see a ghost." The smile on Partridge's face was weak but true.

The guns fell from Preston's hands and he stepped forward. Partridge's smile widened, but wavered as he pushed himself off the wall and tried to walk to meet his partner. Then he stumbled and Preston was by his side in a flash, easing him down before he fell hard. "How...?" Preston felt the weight of the body against his, the warmth and life in it and could not understand it. He wasn't sure if this was really happening. "I shot you."

"The book saved his life." The man in the blue garb that showed his rank as a Medical Technician knelt nearby and produced an injector from his pocket. "It deflected the trajectory of the bullet enough to not to sever his spine. It also missed the main blood vessels."

Preston watched as medication was injected into Partridge's neck. The wounded man in his arms relaxed almost immediately. John raised his gaze to the Medtech and recognised him then – the man had been present when Preston had paid his last respects to Partridge, mourning beside his washed and prepared body. He had believed that Errol was smoke coming out from the incinerating vents...

Errol moved his head and looked up at John. "I was off Prozium, I passed out from the pain."

The Tech took over again, silencing his patient. "Prozium dulls feelings of physical pain. You've fought many hand-to-hand combats, haven't you?" Preston nodded, caressing Errol's dark golden hair and cherishing the silky feel of it. "Then you know that you still get bruised and wounded but that does not stop you." The Medtech stopped his ministrations and looked directly at him. He had very light eyes, though not so hypnotic as the resistance leader Jürgen's. "We should move him to a safer place – he is not very well. He should not have moved today at all, but he insisted--"

"I'm still quite conscious." Partridge commented, sounding rather hurt.

"Let's keep it that way." Preston straightened up and drew Partridge upright with one swift move. "Hold on."

"You aren't leaving your guns?" Errol rasped when he had put his shivering arm around Preston's neck.

"I am out of ammo."

"The bullets are not –"

"The only wounding part of the gun. I know." Preston looked at the Tech and the man nodded. After gathering up all useful armament, the group of three moved out of the room. The Tech pushed a button in his wrist watch and a panel on the side of the corridor opened. To Preston's look he explained: "All the First Class Techs have these – they open the service tunnels that run through the buildings. We sometimes carry heavy equipment and the doors are coded and disguised. Father never wanted to see any signs of... service personnel." Preston understood the hurt in the man's voice; a week ago, he would not have.

The service tunnel was wide enough to move freely with a semiconscious man. Errol was moving on his own feet, but he leaned onto Preston like he was the only thing actually keeping him upright. John did not mind – it was a familiar burden. They had both been very good at what they did – you did not become a First Class Clerick otherwise – but occasionally sense offenders got lucky or a building was not safe enough and one of them ended up sustaining damage.

Errol had carried him out once – he had somersaulted over a low ledge to avoid the machine gun fire but the floor had been covered with fallen debris and he had broken his left leg. Preston had dragged Errol out twice – once a bullet ricocheted from a metal construction and punctured his lung and once he had been hit by a sedative dart.

The latter had been an odd experience. Preston still remembered how heavy and limp Partridge had felt on his arms but also how warm and... well-known. There had been something unsettling tugging at Preston's gut when he saw the way Errol's head had lolled against his neck when John had manouvered him into their armoured car. It was surprising that the Resistance had not blown that up, since they usually did. It is easier to spot your enemy when the enemy moves on foot. A simple tactic that even the terrorists had quickly learned. Perhaps they had hoped to take them both prisoners and needed a vehicle for transport?

Preston had mentally shrugged – the car would have locked down, trapping travellers inside and blown up after couple of minutes, if the real owners did not turn the self-destruct device off. Libria did not want to leave any of its technology outside the safe city walls. This precaution had caused Preston and Partridge two long treks from the Nether. Once they had had to spend a night amidst the ruins – in cold and damp and thus cuddling together for warmth. Being on their interval (or Perston now assumed they had both been on it) this was a simple matter of spooning and keeping one eye open for trouble and a gun in the hand to eradicate said trouble as it arose.

Now, helping along the same man who had held him through that cold night, unfamiliar thoughts began to surface. Prozium dulled most of the urges pretty damn well. Couples got their children through in vitro process. John shrugged. The thoughts were running in wild circles in his mind. He had better focus on the task at hand.

After what seemed like miles of light-grey service tunnels, two nondescript elevators and one steel ramp over foul smelling water main, the Tech opened a door and they were suddenly outside where a van waited for them. Preston had not expected that but realized – while concealing the cache of weapons and settling Partridge comfortably to the back of the van – that Techs had to get around the City as the Clericks did and so this type of a vehicle was again a logical thing to have.

"Clerick Preston, you should also get in the back."

Preston looked over his shoulder at the Medtech, suspicious. "Why?"

"Because no one checks Tech vans--unless someone with the Technician raises suspicion." Preston thought for a split-second, then folded himself to sit by Partridge and nodded. "Thank you, Clerick." Tech flashed them a small smile –a risk on its own--and slid the side-door closed.

John felt Partridge shift by him and leaned closer. In the near darkness of the van he more sensed than saw the man trying to sit up. He helped but had to then hold him up, his arm behind Partridge's back. "Being... horizontal makes me cough... and that bloody hurts."

Preston felt himself smiling and it surprised him deeply. He also shifted, dragging Errol to lean on him. "I'm glad I did not choose a head shot." A burden he had only been partially aware of lifted...at the time, shooting Partridge had been his duty, but guilt had weighed upon him, muted by the Prozium.

Errol grinned but fought the urge to snort down – that hurt, too. "I was surprised you didn't." Errol relaxed against his shoulder. "I couldn't have managed any kind of shot at you."

"Even on Prozium?"

"Hmm. Perhaps then. But even so, I wouldn't have shot to kill you."

"Why not?"

Errol's fingers found John's free hand and held it. His eyes glinted green in the dimness. "I think it is pretty obvious now."

Preston's hazel eyes were wide with shock. "B-but you..." he stuttered and he never stuttered. "And Mary--"

"She understood me." Errol still held Preston's hand and the man who was once the most cold and calculating Grammaton Clerick welcomed the intimate touch. Errol's fingers tightened and Preston looked at him when the man continued in a low, raspy whisper that sounded pained: "And I liked to listen music with her and laugh and..."

A sudden understanding flooded into Preston and the words were out before he could stop them: "To feel alive."

"Yes." Such a small word but it carried all the wishfulness of one man. Preston had never heard anyone saying anything with such a controlled passion.

'This control must have been the key for him', John Preston suddenly realised. 'This was the way he managed to keep up appearances as a Clerick...' He glanced at Partridge who leaned heavily against him, breathing harshly. "But why me?" asked Preston with genuine curiosity. It was inexplicable to him that Errol would harbor tender feelings toward someone who had tried to kill him.

"I don't know." Errol turned his head and Preston saw the wet flick of his eyes. "Perhaps because you were unattainable. It was safe for me to want something I could never have."

The van bumped over a rough surface. Errol fell onto Preston's lap with a groan of pain. John helped him up and held him more securely. "Where is he taking us?"

"To his place. It is the best option now, the safest."

"My children..."

"...will be notified."

The Medtech's apartment were standard living quarters. He showed them to the bedroom – there were no visible signs that a severely wounded man had spent his time there but some wall panels were moved aside and Partridge was hooked up onto an IV. "Fluids, nutrients and antiflammatories," was his answer to the silent question in Preston's glance. Then, having made sure that everything was fine, the Tech left them alone.

Preston sat by Partridge, concentrating at the IV line. He could not look Errol in the eyes. He wanted to hear some answers, however difficult they were to be. "Why you do you still want me around?"

"I love you." There was a hint of amusement in Errol's voice.

Preston flinched inwardly. In his opinion, he wasn't worth it. He took a deep breath: "Even after I tried to kill you?."

Errol sighed. "I have lived on Prozium more years than you have lived in total." Partridge stopped talking and he again snaked his hand to hold Preston's. "I am 15 years your senior. I knew that I was homosexual from the age 10."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I remember the Proziumless world very clearly. I loved a beautiful boy there. He called me pervert for trying to kiss him and it hurts so much when you are young." He sighed again and Preston saw sorrow in his partner's green eyes. "It will still hurt."

"I won't call you 'pervert'." The undertone of raw emotion made Preston highly uncomfortable, and he sought to lighten the moment. "Sense offender, maybe."

Errol grinned. "Thanks," he said dryly. They were silent for a while, but the senior cleric hadn't finished yet. "Prozium seemed like a gift from heaven – you took it and all the hurt went away. The world was calm and made sense..." Partridge swallowed, a pained little movement. "Anyway, I was one of the oldest children taken to the Clerick programme, but I had been on Prozium for 3 years and was physically gifted enough. I was an apt pupil... I didn't miss men or women, was a perfect little soldier against feelings." Partridge's voice betrayed no emotion. "Until I was assigned as your partner... I upped my Prozium intake after the first work week and realised that that action alone spoke volumes..." He released Preston's hand, looking away.

"Why did you stop taking it?"

"Because I remembered how wonderful being in love felt..." Preston closed his eyes. He had no such memory. His feelings, his fresh feelings, were raw and bleeding. "When did you begin to take Prozium?" Partridge's voice rescued him from his thoughts.

"I've taken it for as long as I can remember."

"And now?"

"I haven't taken it for a week."

Partridge shifted a little on the bed before adding: "If I were you, I would take things very easy for a while. You will have a backlash. I know I did, and I weened myself off."

"I don't feel much--"

"Just wait. Patience is a virtue." The older Clerick smiled. "I should know now. I suspect that the body stores Prozium as it stores fat and when the intake stops it still has some resources to go on... to keep calm for a while."

"But I've wept! I--"

"And you are agitated now." Errol reached out again, took hold of John's wrist, stroking the bare skin lightly. "I know. But even after Prozium is gone from your system... there are cravings for it."

"We're addicted?"

"Yes, but it is relatively mild addiction. I saw far worse before Prozium became a norm." Errol let his hand go. "I think it is designed that way – that if you even miss intervals you would want to resume them. If you for some reason could not, the withdrawal would not kill you either."

Preston heard the exhaustion in Errol's voice. "You're tired. Perhaps we should continue this talk later." Partidge nodded and closed his eyes. The sudden realisation of how much the man trusted him shocked John. He had tried to kill Errol and the man still was ready to fall asleep in his presence... Why the trust? _'Because he loves you, you know that.' _The thought did not lighten Preston's mood. He still felt unworthy. He stood up – Partidge shifted in his sleep but did not wake up – and left the sleeping area.

The Tech was watching the news and offered him a seat, so Preston could see it as well. The resistance had done well – the Prozium factories were destroyed and 75 of the reserves were thus gone. Preston thought of Partridge's words about the drug's backlash and shivered. A week from today the city was going to be a mad house. Few citizens were capable of the self-discipline that a Clerick accepted as a matter of course. And why would they? There had always been Prozium.

"We should leave the city."

John was surprised to hear the same conclusion from the Tech's mouth. The man was wise. "Yes. Not without my children, though."

"They can be here by tomorrow morning. We can stay here for two days safely enough. Then he will be stronger."

Preston nodded and laced his fingers in front of him. He felt drained but he could not rest now. The Medtech had other ideas, however. "When was the last time you slept? You're tired, I can see that. This place is as secure as any right now. Take a shower and rest. Your body needs to unwind even if you mind does not want to."

Preston thought about it and conceded. The man was correct, of course. He stripped off the blood-stained uniform tunic, realizing as he did so that he would probably never wear a Clerick's uniform again. After today, nothing would be the same. He scrubbed away all traces of blood and exertion, wishing he could cleanse himself of doubt as easily.

John Preston ended up sleeping at Errol Partridge's side because that was the widest place available. He hoped that Errol did not mind. Although his thoughts were busy, Preston drifted into sleep and woke when the room was dark. He was aware of having dreamed, but their content wouldn't surface. Errol was still slumbering and only shifted a little when John got up and walked to the living area. The Medtech had gone to collect Preston's children and left a note on the table about food in the fridge. He didn't feel particularly hungry. Preston drank some juice, then decided to go through his katas. If they were to survive, he must not lose his skills.

In the middle of the 19th stance that would merge into the 85th defense pose and down-block, he heard a noise from the bedroom. He stopped, walking into the room where he found Errol was sitting up and disconnecting himself from the IV. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I have... to use the bathroom. All the fluids... that have been pumped into me... want come out again." He sounded still exhausted but not in pain anymore. John mutely offered him a hand and helped him to stand up. Errol flashed him a small smile and slung his arm over Preston's shoulder.

When the trip was done, Errol slumped back onto the bed, trying to supress the need to gasp for air – it hurt to do that as well. Instead, he glanced up, to John who was still standing there, looking concerned. Now, when the man was off the interval, his face was expressive. Errol liked it. "You were doing your-" he rasped, noticing that Preston only wore loose trousers and was barefoot.

"Yes. It... feels calming."

_'For you, perhaps,' _thought Errol. _'For me, seeing you that way is like setting a meal in front of a starving man. I want to devour you.'_ These were things he could not say, things Preston was not ready to hear. "I found a book... about the origins of katas once." Partridge paused to drew a slow breath. "It was part of a mental discipline that..." Another slow controlled breath. _'Control...'_ "allowed people to maintain their mental balance and..." Yet another breath. _'Wait until he's ready.'_"...live in harmony with their surroundings. Interesting, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. You should not talk so much. The pain interferes with your recovery."

Errol gave a minute nod. "Then tell me, Preston, how you came off the dose." He shifted back to the bed and laid down on the pillows.

"It was an accident, actually..." Preston began and then told him everything. "It began the morning after I killed you...thought I killed you..."

It was very late when John concluded his story, looking relieved. Partridge smiled at him, his green eyes sagging closed. What were they to each other now? Friends did not try to kill each other. A partner? How would he define their partnership now? He knew that he loved the other man, but John clearly was trying to get used to the idea. Feelings as such were new things for him. Could Preston find it in himself to love another man as he'd once loved his wife?

The clock on the wall showed 3:17 AM and John did not feel sleepy at all although he did feel tired. Perhaps resting would do some good. Errol seemed to sleep, but when John settled on the mattress by him, he turned and looked at Preston. John froze. "Did you sleep here before?" Errol asked him.

"Yes," admitted Preston.

"I thought so. I felt very safe." He smiled at the younger man, who looked troubled.

"I should not make you feel like that at all. It's not logical."

"Love is not logical but it does not make it in no way less real." It was a relief to be able to smile at the man he loved, not to have to will himself to be blank and deny his feelings.

Preston had no answer to that. "My children will be here in the morning."

"Good. I look forward to meeting them." They lay in silence. It had began to rain outside and the sound of the rain drops splattering against the window somehow made the atmosphere in the room more intimate. Errol felt the weight of sleep bearing down upon him, and knowing that Preston was there to guard him allowed him to yield to his fatigue. "When are we leaving?"

John seemed surprised to hear Errol asking that, but then again, he had had plenty time to think about the consequences of people going off the Prozium. "The Medtech suggested day after tomorrow."

"That would be good. The city will still be somewhat organised, but not too much."

There was a quiet moment, which Errol savored. "What if we cannot be what you want us to be?" Preston asked hesistantly. "I am not sure--"

Errol smiled sadly. "Then we will be friends. That would still be more than what we were before. And that would be alright."

John nodded. There was hope – now renewed by memories of the supressed feelings when he had carried Partridge out of the ruined building – that there would also be some unexpected good things. He felt Errol shift and the man caught his fingers again. He realised that he did not mind the touch at all. It was very good actually, made him feel warm inside. If he enjoyed it, then his partner would also. He rested his other hand on top of Errol's, patting it gently.

"Let's rest." He offered and Errol nodded and closed his eyes, still holding his hand. A small smile found its way to John's face. He closed his eyes as well. He could envision a future with Errol, where his children could laugh and play, and he and his partner could build a life together. Yes, if the sad sides were balanced out with some good events, he could still be content.


End file.
